


Lightning Strike Finds His Way

by StrikeRulz



Category: RPF-Lightning Strike
Genre: RPF, Ripped From the Headlines, my hero, strikerulz, superhero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikeRulz/pseuds/StrikeRulz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I've been following Strike's news reports from the first time I saw a tweet about him. And I thought, it's too bad that the reporters only get to see the end result. I want to know about the way he takes down these DBs and gets them to the cops.</p><p>So I took all of the details I could find about the scenes and wrote up a story. If you have suggestions for changes, let me know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet Strike / First Drop-off

The rain beat down onto his head and soaked through the hair that partially obscured his face. But he kept his vigil with complete stillness and silence. There was no other option when hunting the type of prey he stalked.

Killers. Drug dealers. Sex traffickers. The lowest scum of humanity. Criminals. Those who flout the rule of law and the order of justice. He didn't exactly despise them; but he had very little respect for them as human beings. They themselves preyed on the weak, the sick, the hopeless, the young.

But not after tonight. He would make sure that the ones in his cross-hairs wouldn't ever prey on anyone except other scum like themselves. In prison.

Movement caught his eye as they flicked to his left. Slowly blinking to clear his watery vision, he eased his bulk slightly sideways. But still he kept to the shadows. The element of surprise was but one of his many weapons.

Two men emerged from the loading dock of the warehouse. Each was carrying the last boxes to be loaded into the truck that had earlier had a dozen men and three forklifts busy. From his dark and wet vantage point, he had a fleeting thought for weigh stations. Surely this truck would not pass inspection.

The doors creaked as they were swung shut. The slam at the end sounding so final. The two men looked at each other with relief and parted to make their way to each side of the cab. The engine turned over and idled noisily. The diesel fumes rolled away from the truck through the moisture in the air like fog over a heath.

He took a few fortifying breaths as he prepared to break from his hiding place into the open. His left hand twitched ever so slightly in anticipation.

The parking brake released, and the engine roared. As soon as the tires began to roll, he took long, meaningful strides into the narrow field of the truck's headlight beams. The driver swore loudly and his companion looked up from the map he had been studying.

"Who is that?" asked the co-pilot.

"How the hell should I know?" the driver replied. "He better get the hell out of my way though. I don't want to be in this truck any longer than I have to."

The driver followed his statement up by leaning on the horn despite the late hour and the rip it made through the fabric of the surrounding silence. The man in the truck's path did not move or even startle at the sound.

The truck kept speeding up inexorably. Dealing death to random strangers was not a foreign act to the two men. They were guns for hire. It was their very calling in life.

He had been watching this group for a week now. He knew the schedule, knew the players, and knew the weaknesses. These two were hardly the most weathered of the group. He figured they would turn tail easily enough. Why chase the yearlings when the big game was nearby?

Before either man in the truck had time to consider another option to their current course, the stranger in their headlights disappeared. And neither could say whether he had exited to the right or left. There was no movement, and then he was gone.

A loud thunk on the roof of the cab indicated the new position of the challenger. The man in the passenger seat drew out his handgun and kept his eyes to the ceiling. The driver continued to speed up.

Just as they reached the gates allowing them to move onto the street from the loading lot, they were terrified by the sudden appearance of a massive hand breaking through the roof of the cab. The paw of an appendage reached toward the passenger first, wrapping its fingers around his neck easily. Choking sounds immediately issued from the man as he dropped his weapon and tried desperately to loosen the grip.

He failed and passed out from the lack of oxygen mere moments later. The driver had been sounding a steady stream of screams from the moment the hand appeared. He had also been slowing down the truck in order to extricate himself as safely as possible.

Throwing the vehicle into neutral, without a second glance at his companion, the driver dove for the handle to open his door. But the door didn't budge. He put his shoulder into pushing against it, checking to make sure it wasn't locked. When he started looking at the door itself to find the sticking point, he saw four fingers that matched those currently dangling from the ceiling of the cab. The fingers were curled around the door and frame effectively holding it closed tight.

Thinking quickly, he scooted over to the passenger side of the cab, ducking under the hand and climbing over the limp body of the other man. This door swung open, but the man never set foot to the ground. As he leapt, he was grabbed by one of the meaty hands which wrapped around his neck as well. He clawed at the hand, trying to make holding one less desirable than letting go.

With his last thought before darkness, he found a moment of clarity to look at their attacker. But clarity of eye wasn't enough to see this--man or creature. Scant seconds later, it didn't matter anyway. His vision went black.

\---------------

Sergeant Black was just leaving the building when the commotion began. He had already pulled a fourteen-hour shift and was very much inclined to just give it a wide berth. But his curiosity got the better of him. He would later curse himself and his curiosity.

He walked cautiously toward the crowd of onlookers and uniformed police, both of which were forming circles (the police to the inside). Other officers trotted past him to quickly assist. Black took his time, measuring the atmosphere by the excitement of the crowd and the depth of the creases on his fellow officers faces.

Neither told him anything good about what he would find.

Using his best policeman voice, he moved his way through civilians toward the nucleus of the group. The noise levels were rising steadily as more and more people joined the circle. Where were they all coming from, he wondered. He hadn't seen this many people in this area at once in years. Not since the riots of '09.

Vaguely hoping for something less bloody and more quickly resolved than the aforementioned riots, Black finally broke through like the first sperm to penetrate the egg. Jackpot.

On the ground lay two dozen men in various states of 'beat to hell'. Black recognized one of them as a thug who liked to pretend he was a hardened criminal instead of a hothead with a gun. As soon as he mentally checklisted that ID, he started to recognize a few others. Some he himself had been interested in collaring for various reasons including being first-class assholes.

He prodded one of the groaning men with the toe of his shoe.

"What happened to you?" Black asked gruffly.

The only response he got was more unintelligible mumbling. And coughing. And some bloody phlegm discharging onto the blacktop.

"Nice," he said with disgust.

It was then that he noticed they were all cuffed with zip ties. Someone had taken the time to rough them up, immobilize them, and drop them off twenty yards from a police station. Strange didn't begin to describe it. It was like something out of a movie.

Black could hear his Captain ordering the uniformed cops to each haul one of the detainees into the building. He stepped back a bit to allow the men access. But he didn't leave the center of the circle. As they were pulled, one-by-one, from the pavement, Black took his time looking them over to see if he could learn anything more about why they were here like this.

One uniform noticed Black looking carefully. "Is there anything I can help you with, sir?" he asked.

Black considered brushing the kid off. But he decided to ask his question now rather than later.

"When were these guys discovered?" he inquired.

"Ten minutes ago. I heard we got an anonymous tip that a 'shipment' was going to be dropped off in the parking lot. We were hoping it had to do with St. Patty's day coming up." The young man laughed at his own joke.

Black scowled at the young man and cowed him immediately.

"That's all I know, Sergeant," he said in apology.

"All right," was Black's grudging response.

Within another ten minutes, all of cuffed men had been transported into the building for processing.

Black figured that he could wait to hear more details after a solid eight hours of sleep. He walked to his late-model Hyundai and left the scene behind him until tomorrow.


	2. Little Jimmy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black and his partner Morris go searching for more information.

The next day, the newspapers all ran the story on the front page. 'Dangerous Gang of Criminals Delivered to Metro Police' and 'Vigilante Gang On the Loose?' The story had leaked from the department, but the story twisted a few times depending on who told it.

Sergeant Black bought a Daily and tucked it under his arm. He wouldn't break his morning routine for anyone or anything. Buy paper & coffee, walk to desk, check email, use bathroom. Then he would read through the headlines. Regular as clockwork.

He made quick work of the most important stories within moments. Looking up from his desktop, he scanned the room for his partner. The woman was chronically late. Black hated that part; luckily, she made up for that by being tough as nails.

"Who are you looking for?" an acerbic voice from behind him asked.

Dropping his eyes back to the newspaper, Black replied, "You. Where have you been?"

"Just got here," she replied as she dropped into her chair opposite him. Sergeant Morris was a no-nonsense gal with a short haircut and minimal make-up. He had witnessed her take down men who outweighed her by at least seventy-five pounds. She had earned his respect despite himself.

Morris leaned her head over her chair back and rubbed at her eyes. She was wearing her requisite pantsuit and flat shoes. Her cappuccino sat steaming on her desk where she had set it before her dramatic flop into the chair. Black could read the order on the side: two shots of espresso and extra whipped cream. Caffeine and sugar.

Black took his coffee as it came. And never after eleven a.m. It interfered with his sleep patterns otherwise. And he had enough sleep disruption from the criminals of this city without getting it from his beverages as well. He grunted in her general direction to get her attention on him again.

She pried one hand away and cut her eye toward him.

"What?" she asked.

Black held up the paper. "You seen this?" he asked back.

With a sigh, she pulled herself forward properly into her seat and reached for the offered paper. She read quickly, and tossed it back onto his desk with a thunk.

"And?" she asked again.

"Delivered to our doorstep," Black mused, leaning back in his chair and swiveling his body to an angle from his partner. "And not only delivered in body but with evidence."

Morris frowned. "Where did it say there was evidence?"

Black smiled slowly. "The newspapers weren't informed of that tidbit. I talked to Broadstone on my way in this morning. He was on his way out. He spent last night processing the dozen suspects," he informed her.

"Huh. What kinds of evidence?"

"Enough to get every single one of them a date with the Grand Jury," he said. "C'mon."

Black leapt out of his chair, grabbing his jacket off the back. Morris scrambled to keep up with him, her drink threatening to escape its lid as she swiftly snagged it.

"Where we going, Black?" she asked him, slightly breathless.

"We need to pay a visit to our favorite canary," Black threw back over his shoulder.

The two cops exited the building briskly. Neither said anything more until they had reached their destination--one of the seediest parts of the city. Here was where their most reliable snitch could be found most days, sleeping off whatever drug he had ingested, smoked, injected, or snorted the night before. The little punk had a great tolerance for mind-altering substances. Black gave him credit for that.

Little Jimmy had never steered them wrong in the two and half years he had been feeding bits of information to the two Sergeants. Morris had been the one to find him initially, when she was still working in narcotics. He had been hiding in the last closet of a building being shaken down for addicts. In exchange for not arresting him then, he had told her about several of the dealers roundabouts who had started to look for customers in the elementary school age bracket.

She had let him go because the hope of catching those guys was just too good to dismiss outright. Plus, a junkie like Jimmy was bound to be busted again. He wasn't going to just up and see the error of his ways. She let him stay in the closet and told her superior officer that the room was clean.

The information he gave her had led to her promotion and transfer to vice. That was when she had become Black's partner. The next time they ran into Jimmy, he was hiding again. But this time, he was in the office of a warehouse full of illegal weapons. Everyone else had run when the cops had pulled up, but Jimmy had unfortunately been passed out.

Morris recognized him and gave the backstory to her partner. Black was impressed with his details about the people they had just missed in the current location. He agreed to let Jimmy go as well as an exchange.

Two days later, they had apprehended all of the men from the first warehouse in their second location. The bust yielded twice as much weaponry as the first bust did.

And thus, Jimmy became their inside man. Whether cash or food or freedom, Jimmy wasn't particular about his reward. He could play dumb, but his longevity spoke to his cleverness. He hadn't been caught yet. And he still continued to work his way into places he didn't really seem to belong. He had an innocence about him that endeared him to criminal and law enforcement alike.

Black and Morris had once discussed that they both felt a little sorry for his wasted potential. After that, they had each kept their opinions to themselves. It wasn't good for the work to get attached to a snitch or assign too much importance to him.

Little Jimmy was lounging in the small shaft of sunlight that penetrated his favorite alley. The sun was probably only at the right angle for an hour a day, but Jimmy was there for it. When the shadow of two people fell across him, he didn't even open his eyes.

"Morning, officers. Lovely day," he greeted them.

"Jimmy," Morris allowed.

"Hmp," Black grunted.

"I know why you're here," Jimmy continued, a smile on his face. "I've got the scoop even the papers don't have."

"Then spill it," Black growled impatiently. Morris had always noticed that Black had less tolerance of Jimmy when Jimmy was sober and acting like he was satisfied with his life. She didn't ask her partner about it though.

"But first, what do you have for me this fine day?" Jimmy bargained.

Black elbowed Morris. She was always in charge of the bribe. Luckily, she always had something on her person for just such an occasion. She produced twenty bills and a croissant, still warm from the bakery that morning.

Little Jimmy folded the money and tucked it away for later. The bread he immediately started devouring. Between bites, he related what he knew, spitting little crumbs every so often.

"No one knows much, to be honest with you. Almost all of the witnesses were dragged to you yesterday. But I have heard a few rumors worth mentioning," he began.

Black shifted his weight. Little Jimmy took the hint and continued without further ado.

"It's one guy. One enormous guy. My friend Suzy said that she saw him dragging unconscious bodies through the alleyway near where she likes to bed down. She sat up to get a better look and accidentally knocked over a soda can. The guy stopped dead still. Then he was gone," Jimmy snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

Black nearly exploded. "Oh, c'mon, Jimmy! You expect us to believe that one guy did that much damage? And you're saying what? He disappeared?"

Jimmy looked a little afraid of the Sergeant's outburst.

"Suzy has never given me bad information, Black. She's reliable. If she said the guy was there and then disappeared, I believe her. Shit knows I've seen some weird things in my time," he said as he popped the last bit of pastry into his mouth.

Morris cupped her temple with her right hand, her left under her elbow. "Now, wait a minute. Even if Suzy is right, how do we know this is the guy from the scene? We got a copy of the report from overnight. The area was demolished. Like heavy equipment demolished. Did he have some sort of bulldozer or crane too?" she inquired.

Black joined in the gang-up. "Yeah, how do we know that this guy she saw wasn't something completely unrelated?"

Little Jimmy primly wiped the crumbs off of his filthy street clothing and looked back up at them from his seated position. "Because of this," he said. "Suzy beds down not two blocks from where all of this went down. And after that first time, she was careful to keep quiet. She saw this guy make five more trips dragging bodies. And after he had obviously finished whatever he was doing, she easily followed the blood trail back to the scene. I think she was the first witness. She said tires were still spinning and engines were still warm to the touch."

Jimmy smiled smugly.

"Jesus," Black muttered, running his hand through his close-cropped hair. "It's an even bigger mess than I thought."

Morris' eyes snapped up to her partner's. "Why is that?" she asked.

But Black was already walking back out of the alley toward their car.

"Take care, Jimmy," she threw over her shoulder as she walked after him.

Black refused to say another word until they had put at least 6 blocks behind them.

"Are you going to tell me what you meant back there?" Morris probed.

"When I'm ready," he replied.


	3. Who is Strike?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cops keep getting anonymous tips about Strike's whereabouts and identity. But they never turn anything up.

The criminal classes were figuring a few things out. They were figuring out that their secrets weren't secret anymore. That no one was safe. That even white collar criminals were going to be targeted with the same relentless and dogged pursuit.

No amount of care or experience could prevent this personage from finding out what was happening. He was dumping them off into the custody of the police all over the city. In broad daylight. Overnight. Rain or shine like some sort of crime postal service.

But no one could describe him with any sort of accuracy or defining traits. He was 'big' and 'dark' and 'terrifying'. But nothing useful like height, age, eye color. The only physical evidence that someone was actually performing these law enforcement acts was the bodies and evidence delivered to authorities. No photos, no DNA.

Whispers said ghost, of course.

Others said it was too much to be accomplished by one person. No mere mortal man could overpower so many people unless he were an action movie star. It was just illogical to suggest otherwise.

Every other week, a tip would come into the anonymous police lines claiming to know where he hid. Leaving an address. Leading to yet another fruitless visit. To alleviate the frustration, the answering police officers were rotated.

Three weeks after the initial incident, it was Black and Morris' turn to investigate a tip-off. Black grumbled all the way to the car. Morris remained stalwartly silent.

As soon as the doors closed, she let loose.

"What the hell is your problem? Don't you want to catch this guy?" she asked.

Black glared at her through his sunglasses. She could feel his start even though she couldn't even see his eyes.

"This guy wants to be caught. That's the problem," he replied.

"What does that mean?" she demanded.

Black threw the car into gear and peeled out of the parking lot. He drove through three lights before he answered.

"He's drawing attention to himself," Black elaborated. "He chooses to go after these guys, roughs them up, and turns them over to us. _He's doing it on purpose_."

Morris wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Of course he's doing it on purpose. He's bringing down criminals."

Black shook his head slowly. "No-oooo," he drew out. "He's doing all of this on purpose _to get attention_. It isn't about revenge or justice or even kicks. It's the most passive aggressive bid for attention, probably coupled with daddy issues, that we've ever had to deal with."

Sitting at a red light, Black flicked his sunglasses down to see his partner over the top of the frames. Her mouth worked a few times before snapping shut.

"No shit?" she whispered.

Black lifted an eyebrow. He assumed a high-pitched voice, "Look at me! I'm a crime-fighter. I think I'm Batman! I'm so cool."

"And that's what you've been chewing on since we talked to Jimmy weeks ago?" she guessed.

Black turned back to looking out the windshield as he eased the car across the intersection.

"Yep."

"So what does that mean?"

"I'll tell ya. It means some jackass has seen one too many movies, taken one too many self-defense classes, and read one too many comic books. It means that someone is perverting everything that you and I and everyone else who has ever been a cop or an officer of the law have stood for and fought for and bled for and turning it into some sort of act. Reducing what we do to a carnival side-show. For shits and giggles," Black concluded.

Morris punched her side of the dashboard.

"He's making fun of us, and I don't like it," Black growled.

"So it's not about taking down criminals?" Morris clarified.

"No. It's about trying to make us look like we're fools. And right now, my money's on some new gang moving in to our city looking to clean out the competition while showing the cops whose boss. Kill two birds," he explained.

They reached the address from the tip and exited the vehicle. Morris kept her hand on her sidearm, but Black appeared to be completely relaxed. If his theory was correct, they would find nothing here. But neither were they in any danger. Killing cops wasn't part of the grand PR campaign.

Black knocked on the front door and announced, "Metro Police. Open up."

Morris looked in the windows. The rooms she could see were all empty of any furniture or other belongings. The place looked completely abandoned.

"So what's with the tips, then?" Morris asked.

Black shrugged. "Crazies trying to get in on the action. Probably watching us from a safe distance. Making us dance for their amusement," he said.

Morris went around the north side of the house and Black the south. When they met in the back, she asked, "Have you run this theory past the Captain?"

Black shook his head. "Need evidence," he grunted.

Morris relaxed visibly after their casing of the house turned up no one and nothing.

"So what's the daddy issues thing?" she asked.

Black stuck his hands deep into his pants pockets and looked up at the sky briefly.

"This guys wants attention. But he doesn't want just any attention. If that were the case, he'd audition for a reality show or run for office. No, he wants some authority figure--like a father or a police department--to catch him being naughty and punish him. Probably abused as a kid. Equates punishment with love. Attention with positive reinforcement even if the attention itself is negative," Black speculated.

"When did you get a degree in psychology?" she ribbed him.

He cracked a smile for the first time all week.

"Well, I've been asking around a bit. There's a therapist I've been interested in seeing socially. This situation gave me something to talk about with her and helped me out too," he elaborated.

Morris took another look around as they made their way together back to where they had parked.

"I'll call it in," she volunteered. "This is Adam 119. Negative on seventh street. Repeat negative contact."

The radio crackled a bit, and then the officer on the other end acknowledged receipt of their report.

"Let's go eat lunch," Black said and slammed his door shut.

Morris got in without another word.


	4. Strike Finds His Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we finally knew that Strike was real, what was it like for him?

The day that Lightning Strike came out as the world's first superhero, he learned the meaning of strength.

Strength isn't something that you build into your body. Strength is something that is born into your soul.

Strike needed the strength to withstand not only the adoration of millions but also the resentment and jealousy of millions of others. When the possibility of possession exists for each person, the commodity is revered. When the reality reveals how much distance exists between the would-be buyers and the would-be bought, the base nature of the average human being is revealed.

"He thinks he's better than us."

"He's here to save us from ourselves."

And so on.

Either way, assumptions are the normative state. It was assumed from the photos that finally surfaced that he was seven feet tall. It was assumed from the eye-witness accounts that he used excessive violence. It was assumed that he became a public figure for his own benefit or for the benefit of others.

No one assumed that there was no benefit at all.

Headline: First Superhero Revealed--Mutant or Alien? See page 6 for more details.

Headline: Lightning Strike Goes from Shadow to Substance: But Will he Pay for His Crimes as Well?

Headline: Lose Weight on the Lightning Strike Diet!

End


End file.
